An excellent resource.

Amusing to see that ET's lead story today was the LA bushfires. I love it when ET tries to do serious news, which usually takes the form of ET appropriating some murder (usually involving pregnant mothers) as entertainment. Today, they had Jaaaan Caarl, dolled-up with beauty mark as per usual, in a chopper(!) above the fires (although they provided no evidence of that) reporting such gems as "the filming of Divorce Court has been halted because the actor who plays the security guard has lost his house..." They then crossed to New York where Courtney Cox-Arquette was asked for her thoughts ("it's very sad").

Their next angle was the "emotional" reunion between a reporter whose news van burnt and the fireman who saved him. This provided another chance for news crews to get all self-important. WE nearly died. WE were in danger. Convenient that they get a nice news headline out of parking their van too close to the fire. I guess the bushfires do fall under ET's reporting mandate, as they are threatening LA, the home of numerous important celebrities.

I'm also suspicious of Thorpie's uber-tan. No one looks that bronzed in October. I suspect that Thorpie, like everyone else it seems, has been having a bit of the old body-bronze sprayed on. Another reason to suspect that Thorpie (these days) is a sham swimmer. Shouldn't a swimmer be naturally tanned? Or maybe he's swimming indoors, away from UV, because his skin is insured or something. So many J.Lo parallels. Yes, I think my dislike is irrational, but another reason I have for my irrational dislike (which doesn't actually require a reason) is that I seem to remember that Thorpie has one of those sham "Save the Children" style charities e.g. Patrick Rafter's "Cherish the Children". Now, these organisations may be doing good work and helping alot of people, but why do all these celebs try to save the children? It's ALWAYS the children Kylie, however, I truly believe DOES care for the kids. She, as always, is genuine.

I'll do my proper run-down soon, but can I just say that I love the song, and I love the clip. I suspect, however, that Kylie's much hyped "mature" new image in reality only means that her arse is slightly obscured in the clip. AND if you look at the final shot in the clip, the male beef-cake next to her has his hands down his bathers. Check it out!

Oh yeah. Last week I saw Kill Bill and it was fantastic of course. I just have a few questions. How come, after waking from a four-year coma, Uma only had to will her legs out of their entropy, while her arms worked perfectly well? Is that usual? Also, was everyone surprised by the 'surprise' revelation at the end of the film? I only ask because I was expecting it to happen. Is that weird? It just seemed like a necessary dramatic element that I was sure would be reintroduced, so... Was it really meant to be a surprise? Anyway, I just have one final question. A friend heard a piece of dialogue differently to me, and I just wanted to find out if I heard right. At the beginning of the film, just before the bullet thwacks sickeningly into Uma's skull, she says "Bill. It's your baby", right? I think that's what she said.

Here's a weird thing. David Carradine, the guy who plays yucky sadistic a-hole Bill [you know, the guy that Uma's trying to kill] was on Lizzie Maguire the other day. He's some kung-fu TV legend or something. And his brother plays Lizzie's dad, so he was guesting in an 'in-joke' fashion. You find all this very interesting, don't you?

Whoah! Guy, BACK OFF! Hear me out. Thorpie used to look like a dork. Do you remember him aged 14 to about, well, now? He never quite hit it. And all I'm saying is, something has definitely happened. I first noticed the change a few months back when I saw an ad for The Great Outdoors for which Thorpie was doing a report on Athens. He had a black singlet on and that great new hair, and I thought "Wait a minute. Did Thorpie get hot?". I tried to pass it off as some freakish conspiracy of the Grecian wind and sun. I mean, his name is Ian, so he couldn't be hot, right? But then, I was watching the ads for the news yesterday, and there he was again. He was in some white hipster trunks and a singlet, and his hair was still great [something about its length is just right. Oh, and the blonde tips. They are the first successful male tips I have seen] and he was uber-tanned and UNMISTAKABLY hot. I am serious Guy. Thorpie has turned into something, and I comment on it only because he was so not there before. Remember the long-sleeved skin-tight Versace V-necks he was sporting a few years back? Ergh! And his hair was so blah. But now! Oh my. So, the answer to your hysterical "what's happening?" is simple. Calm down, okay? The sky is not falling. I made the remark "When did Thorpie get so hot?" because, my dear, hot he got.

Stop judging me. But I agree that his forays into "jewellery design" were a grievous misstep. "Jewellery design" is what happens to people who are successful in one domain, [be they actors, divas, or sportspeople] and who then can't see what a presumption it is for them to want to "design", despite their lack of training and expertise. I haven't seen the jewellery or anything, I'm just registering my concern, because usually, when people accept a company's offer to design a product line for them, it signals that they have moved "inside the beltway", to borrow an expression. You know, their frame of reference has become all ridiculous and limited, and stuff. Yuck. But, I still maintain that Thorpie got hot.

Ian Thorpe is not hot! Signature underwear ranges are not hot! Signature PEARL ranges are not hot! Blonde tips are not hot! White suits are not hot! Thorpie's Angels was not hot! AND he started this whole metrosexuality thing! What's happening Elanor?

Hey! When did Thorpie get so hot?

So President Bush visited the country the other day and made a speech to Parliament, and all that. And all I have to say is, "That guy is a genius"! Let me explain. You know those conversations you get into when things aren't really going your way, and you feel like you're making a dick of yourself and everyone is judging you and with every utterance you are hanging yourself and everyone is kind of tense and you just wish that there was a way you could break the tension with grace and aplomb and get yourself back onto a better footing, but you just can't find the words to do it? You know, those awkward moments that inevitably occur in social situations? Well, President Bush has found the ultimate solution to this problem. If his parliamentary appearance is anything to go by, this line is a surefire hit, a 'witty rejoinder' worthy of clamourous applause. So, picture this. You've just made what you thought was an hilarious call, but it has been met with blaring and shame-inducing silence. Or, you're in an argument and you've backed yourself so deep into a corner that you can't possibly imagine that a way out is even possible. What do you do? Well folks, the five little words that I am about to share with you are the most powerful way out I have ever seen. They smooth down even the most resistant of hackles. They break the tension instantly, and everyone around you is grateful for it. George has taught me, and now I am passing the nifty trick onto you, that to get out of any sticky situation that you come across in your life requires only that you pause, take in the crowd, [maybe shrug and hold out your hands, but that is a context-reliant flourish, and you will be the best judge as to whether it will stand] and say "Hey, I love free speech". I am in the process of incorporating this gem into my default position. Gone are the days when, after causing or enduring any social trauma, I would feebly hum, or say "whatever". I gratefully put those involuntary defaults into the bin. Now, I will be a powerful and unassailable foe, armed only with [if my brain allows my programming override] the unimpeachable greatness of "Hey, I love free speech". It placates admiriers and infuriates foes. It can even be used to disarm the most 'intellectual' of combatants, if delivered as an 'humourous ironic quotation'. It is, in a word, perfect. Those Americans really do know a thing or two about artillery.

Have just been listening to the new Strokes album. Yay! Yay! Yay! Oh god. Soooo yay! In other music listening news, have for the past month or so been paying serious heed to last year's first album from The Coral. It's a beauty. Serious heed also given to the EP [at least I think it's an EP. EPs are the short albums that bands release before they get a proper deal, right?] from The Hells. Don't be put off by the name. They're not as try-hard as it would suggest. It's a really good EP [or LP or whatever], with special mention going to the final track, He's The Devil [But I Love Him So]. Excellent.

Was watching The Bachelorette and noticed that the show doesn't 'turn the world upside-down', or similar, as much as its spruikers might have us believe. There are weird and unnecessary touches to the show that only make sense when you realise that they have been included because someone has said "We have to modify this otherwise this is just too emasculating, dudes". These are just three of the details I have noticed that are there for no other reason than to ease the men more gently into the aberrant and degraded position in which they find themselves.

Detail #1 is the rose design. These boys don't get no long-stemmers. Hell no! And why? Because they are GUYS people! Only girls get long-stemmed roses [Alright. Ladies get them too]. So, logically, if you gave a GUY a long-stemmed rose, that would make him a girl [or a lady]. And that is a no-no. Thus, because they are GUYS... wait, no. Because they are MEN, they get lapel roses. Yeah. They deserve lapel roses. You know why? Because MEN wear lapel roses. Lapel roses are masculine. And these guys, here, in this room, involved in this rose ceremony, these guys are MEN. Don't you forget it.

Detail #2 occurs before the rose ceremony. The host of the show uses this time to justify his presence and salary. He explains the 'process' of the ceremony and focusses everyone's attention on the importance of it's outcome to next week's episode etc. Well, in The Bachelorette, he also uses this time to applaud the MEN for being so brave and 'open' in putting themselves in such an unfamiliar 'position' which, because they are MEN, of course, is obviously the opposite of the one that they are used to [and which they deserve and should expect].

Detail #3 is again all about the language. As they go into the ad break before the rose ceremony begins, the voice-over man says "Whose ego will be shattered? Find out, next". That never got said about the girls. It was always "Whose heart will be broken?" and such. These are all telling departures. I find myself asking "Now, why would they do that? Hmmmm". And my answer? "Oooh. That's fucked up, yo".

While I love Delta to bits, and think that Farnsey's a TOTAL TOSSER, I have to admit that Erin perfectly summed up last night's ARIAS (or "Deltas").

I hope that people were lucky enough to stumble upon the James Hewitt documentary the ABC had on the other night. Hilarious. The defining image would have to be when Mr. Hewitt, reclining in a bath-tub and smoking a pipe, claimed that “I had to put a lot of bubbles in this tub – I’m a big boy”. The self-described bounder then went on to detail the joys of sucking his wet-nurse’s “tits”. Also funny was the quietly taking-the-piss interviewer who enjoyed getting James all angsty by asking him how he made his money, and why he hadn’t worked for even one day over the past twelve years. The latest source of revenue, of course, was the sale of Diana’s love letters that he was trying to organise “either in the US or the middle east”. It was fun to watch his nervous rationalisations for the dirty deed e.g. “the letters are historical artefacts that need to be preserved” and that “preservation of these documents is motivating the sale”. More funny stuff: the “Chelsea set C-list celeb famous for having plastic surgery on her G-Spot” and the fact that every person interviewed seemed to subtly imply that Princess Di was in fact a potty-mouthed cow. I love boozed-up English toffs!

Hee hee. Tonight the Queer Eye guys are going to be on Oprah. [hugging self] I just love it when the world works out exactly as I planned. Brwa ha ha! [petting feline] Patience my pretties. [eyes glittering] Yes!

Until this evening, I was loathe to enter the fray surrounding the 'ridiculousness' of ads for 'female hygeine' products. You know, all that brou-ha-ha and 'aware' talk about menstrual blood being "like, not blue" and about the sanitary pad not generally being put to use as a fix-all for leaks etc. You know what I mean. I vowed never to go there because it has been commented upon to the point of lameness [though of course, not to the point of achieving any substantial change]. Every time someone smugly trotted out such hackneyed material, I was like, yawn. Move along. But this evening I saw one of the most piss funny things relating to this subject. Forgive me, but I just had to share.

It was a tampon ad for some new tampon whose major selling point was an 'ease shield' or something. Whatever it's called, it's meant to be, like, silky or something, which makes for a smoother insertion. Simple, right? Wrong. Just consider what you would do if you were in advertising and this was the angle you needed to emphasise to explain the superiority of the product you had to hawk, okay? Come on big stuff, how would you illustrate that this particular tampon is designed to create less, er, 'friction' than other brands, without alluding in any way to the fact that it is also designed to get stuck up women's fanny holes to absorb, you know, "stuff"? No ideas? Punk? You disappoint me. It's just soooo obvious! You make the tampons race each other of course, dummy!

The ad's demonstrative mechanism was so beautiful. There was a glass sloped surface with two vertical canals indented on it and water running down them. The indentations were like two water slides, side by side, but of a size that made them suitable only for use by tampons [you must be "this" wide to ride]. So, two tampons [one being our boy, the other a less evolved challenger] were sliding down the canals, propelled by gravity and with only their own friction to impede them. Wheeeeee! It was intense, man. And would you believe it, but the new 'ease' tampon with its smoother less frictional surface won! Yay!

I think we all learned an important lesson here today, people. Perhaps even a variety of lessons. Any physics teachers out there, take note. Prepare your experiments and just watch the learning happen. So cheap, yet so effective a demonstration about the forces acting on moving objects and stuff, don't you think? And ladies, now that we've got the lowdown on which tampon would win a race down a slightly sloped and pristine water slide [wink wink] we can all be better informed about our options [wink wink]. Do the math, girls. Make the translation. You know what that means.

Hee hee hee! Ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa! I think this ad is hilarious. And bizarre. It's like, totally weird packaged as 'polite' but it knows it's totally weird. Brilliant.

Near death.

Now, I don't want to be alarmist or anything, but last night, my mother nearly killed me! And no, this is not a figurative dilemma. It is all too real. Were it not for the new season's warmth, which necessitated that all the doors and windows around me be open for the purposes of ventilation, then my existence might very well have been snuffed out. Done. Finito. Finally and irrevocably... dead. I am mildly perturbed by this because existence is my thing, baby. And it is my only thing. So when it is threatened, I get a little freaked. You see, it happened like this. I fell asleep on the living room couch, as per usual, which, in open plan living style, is in the same room as the kitchen. Anyway, after doing her usual tinkering in said kitchen, my mum was the last to go to bed. And she hates it that I sleep on the couch. So somehow [though I am not insinuating anything], the gas on the kitchen stove got left on, releasing deadly carbon monoxide into the air that I was breathing all night. Yikes. My dad woke up next morning, and opened his and mum's bedroom door [which had conveniently cordoned them off from danger] to find two things: (1)the undeniable reek of gas, and (2)my peaceful and innocent form slumbering on the couch. I was fine, due to the aforementioned window situation, but alls I'm saying is that I just as easily might not have been. So, as I said, I am a little freaked. And suspicious.

You see, my mum is what I would call the passive-aggressive type. She lets her rage out indirectly in little bursts of 'stinging' mutters. This, as you can imagine, garners little response. So I am just wondering if my consistency in acting against her wishes somehow tripped her impotent frustration over into something more pathological. Perhaps something in her brain snapped, and decided [I am hoping subconsciously] to 'teach me a lesson' about the perils of going against her. You want to sleep on the couch, daughter dear? Let's see how much you like it when you're dead. Harrumph! But that's just crazy talk, right? I'm sure it was just an accident. Yeah. I'm sure it was just that her belly brushed across the stove's knob as she was leaning over it to switch on the kettle. Yeah. I'm sure that's all it was. I mean, I shouldn't be worried right? She's my mum, yo? They don't do that, right? And anyway, accidents happen, don't they? And no harm came of it really. So, um, case closed. Right?

I would tell you that I have just returned home from a brilliant gig by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Liars, but I feel that I have tortured you enough in detailing the fortunacies of my fortunate life, and have probably also tested the devotion of you all with my incessant crowing. I mean, all I did was buy some tickets and go to a few venues, right? No great skill there. And heaps of losers who think they are cool go to gigs. So why should I lord it over you so madly? Basking so self-regardingly in reflected glory is such a loserish ridiculous thing to do, you know. Oh well. Waaaaaaaaaaa! Yeah! Freakin fabulous, man! Wooo-hoo! Yeaaaah! Fuckin yeah! Sorry. But I do have good reason. You see, we walked in and found a pozzie in which to wait out the opening act, and, would you believe it, but we were right next to Karen O! And, yes, it really was the real Karen O, and not one of her imitators, who were of course legion. I was aware of that possibility, so I double-[triple, quadruple, quintuple etc.] checked, just to be sure that it was really her. And when I was sure, I checked again, just to drink in the wonder that is she. We were right next to her! And though I doubt that I impressed her at all with my presence [I was at the time presenting as a fat sweaty blob] I nonetheless can cherish the fact that for a period of time in my measly little life, she was mingling with the people and the people were us! Yay! And then later, Nick Zinner sidled past us while beating a path through the throng. Yay! But it is ridiculous to gloat about such chance encounters. They of course mean little, and serve only to reveal how close we can be but how far we actually are from the glittering world of brilliant rock personalities. But still, such moments feel awkwardly spectacular. Yay!

Oh, and the gig run is over now so expect future posts to reach out to you from a place of dejected bitterness. Fair warning.

Um, hi. Not to brag or anything but I just got back from the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club gig, so YEEAAAAAH! Fuckin yeah! Grin grin grin. Yaaaaaaaaaa! My ears are still ringing. Brilliant! Yay yay yay! I probably enjoyed it more than they did, because they were dealing with "technical crap" [and that is a direct quote from an actual Black Rebel Motorcycle Clubber. Tingle]. There are just too many people to be in love with in this world. I just can't quite pick which one is my favourite. 'Hottie drummer', or 'so fucking dark-and-cool-eyed guitar man', or 'got-the-moves-energetic-nihilist bass boy'? So much love. And then there's everyone else on the planet who is in a band to love. But I usually narrow it down to one man per band, as I don't want to cause any friction between them. So which one is it to be? I just don't know. Hmmmm. I'm actually more jealous of them than hot for them. I just want to be them [or similar], all cool and brilliant and thrashing about elegantly and secret-smiling at one another and stuff. God damnit! Why do I have not one ounce of musical experience, huh? I could be in a band. I could be a peer, man. [crestfallen sigh] But anyway, [now perking up] did I mention that I just got back from a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club gig, and that this occurred only one night after having gone to a White Stripes gig? Did I mention that? Really? Oh, I thought it may have slipped my mind, considering how usual such brushes with hottie excellence are in my life. So I did mention it, huh? How nice for you.

As an addendum to last night's post, I am floating another instalment of the E List.

Things That I Love, Item #1 Jack White [swoon].

Things That I Love, Item #2 Jack White [giddy applause]. Swoon!

Aw hell. Item # 3 Brilliant Hottie Rockers generally [all inclusive swoon!]

Hi. I just got back from The White Stripes gig so, I'm like, whoah. Alriiiiiiiight! Woo-hoo! Yeah! You guys rock! If it's possible, they were better than the last time I saw them. Well, it is possible, of course. Jack looked so loony. God I love him. Yippeee! Yay! Whoopeee! Weeeeeeee! Yeah. Fuckin yeaaah!

Yesterday afternoon I was watching Entertainment Tonight and I was shown something that made me giddy with joy. I whooped. The world is a marvellous place. You see, Paris and Nicky Hilton are going to be on Oprah. Whoopee! Don't ask me why they are going to be on Oprah, because it doesn't matter. I am happy and I don't need to search for the reason behind my happiness. Only a few snippets of the episode were previewed on ET, but in typical Hilton fashion, they were pure gold. For some reason, Paris had done a shift at McDonalds, and she was telling Oprah that in an eight hour shift you only make $40, which, like, will only get you an entree meal at The Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles. And Oprah was like, that's so true. You'll only get a crabcake or something. Isn't that amazing? Wow, how the other half lives, eh? Eight whole hours of work, for one delicious crabcake. Crazy. Can I just say how much I love the Hilton sisters? I think that they are teriffic. And I now have only to survive until that episode of Oprah airs on my TV for me to have lived a happy and fully contented life. I could then die knowing that I had witnessed unparalelled magnificence. Knock on wood. Oh, and I am not being sarcastic. I am a born again Parisien. In my other life I mocked her, but she is glorious and beyond reproach. I am not kidding. I mean, you have to be pretty brilliant to say the things that she has. Or maybe bonkers. But the joy is real, whatever the case. Bring it on.